Secrets of The Dark
by cumbersmut
Summary: Sherlock/John Highschool AU. Sherlock takes John out of gym class for an "adventure". The two go into the school auditorium without the lights and venture around. Things start to get interesting when sight is removed and there are wires laying about.


**A/N: Sorry it seems short, it's my first finished fanfiction. Let me know what you think please :)**

_/ _

The whistle blew again. Sherlock leaned against the wall in the school gym, exhausted. He didn't particularly like going to gym class. You could even say he hated it. He preferred his Science and Chemistry classes to anything else he was forced to take. The only reason Sherlock even bothered to show up was because of his friend, John Watson. John was a short, stocky built kid Sherlock's age, who was in almost every class Sherlock was. John enjoyed coming to gym class, because being active was one of his favorite things to do. Sherlock liked to watch John participate in physical activities. It was almost like he was warm and happy, hidden by his cold and logical exterior. A snapping sound brought Sherlock back to reality. He was staring at John as the teacher continued to snap in his face, begging him to participate. Sherlock rolled his eyes, snarling at the teacher before strolling over to John, who was breathing heavily from exhaustion. A thin sheer of sweat beaded on John's forehead . Sherlock grabbed John's arm and walked him over to the nearest wall.

"John," Sherlock said in a low husky voice. It was fair to say this almost turned John Watson on. "I'm bored. Come with me."

Before John had time to reply he was already being pulled by Sherlock to the door and out into the corridor. "Sherlock, what the hell? We could get in trouble for sneaking out and skipping class-" John continued complaining as Sherlock dragged him through winding hallways until they finally stopped at a set of doors. "Please be quiet, John. I can't have you risking us getting caught." Sherlock huffed and pushed the double doors open as they walked into the darkness. It was silent. The only sound was the clicking of their shoes on what seemed like hardwood floors. John wanted to argue. He wanted to yell at Sherlock for getting him involved in something that could get them both expelled. His mind eventually escaped him as he ventured through the pitch-black environment. John stopped walking, and started listening. The sound of his friends footsteps had stopped. 'Did that bastard leave me here?' John thought to himself. Careful not to be too loud, John said Sherlock's name, in hope for an answer. There was a bit more worry in his voice than he wanted.

"I'm over here, John. Are you alright?" Sherlock asked, his voice was distant from John, like he was focusing on something else. The slow tapping of John's shoes neared. As John, ever so slowly, tried to navigate his way back to Sherlock, his foot was caught. He tried his best to free his foot, but failed and fell forward. John braced himself to fall hard on the ground, but to both of their surprise, he fell straight into Sherlock, knocking them both over. Sherlock was taken aback by John's weight and toppled back, with John on top if him.

Sherlock wasn't upset, just shocked. John, however, was mortified with himself. "I'm so sorry, Sherlock. Honestly, I didn't see you there! I'm so very sorry, it's dark a-and I can't see and I tripped on a wire and-" John was frantically apologizing when Sherlock cut him off. "Really, John. It's alright. It's fine. Are you okay?" His voice was calmer than he expected. Sherlock swallowed the lump in his throat, his stomach instantly twisting and turning in knots. He was almost positive John could feel it too, since he was still on top of him. John was sitting comfortably on Sherlock's stomach, his hands spread on Sherlock's chest. Thoughts raced through Sherlock's mind, specifically previous conversations with Irene in his psychology classes; _"How could you tell?" she asked, worried but quickly putting her shields back up. "Because I took your pulse," he whispered. _ Subconsciously, Sherlock laced his long, cold fingers around John's wrist. Pulse Increased. To play it off, Sherlock re-positioned his fingers and intertwined his fingers with John's.

"You know... our next class doesn't start for another twenty minutes or so, judging by how long we've been here." John trailed off, breaking through into Sherlock's train of thought. A hand was running through his thick black curls. _John's hand. _The knots in his stomach became almost unbearable. His heart was racing. Sherlock screwed his eyes shut. It felt illogical. These feelings and thoughts and anxiety. He wanted John. He wanted to hold him in his arms, he wanted to hold him close, to be able to smell his intoxicating scent that drove Sherlock up and over the edge. He wanted to feel his soft lips against his own, to fully taste John. Sherlock's breath was hitched, he dropped John's hand. The physical connection that he broke seemed to spark something. His mind was hazed with every emotion his slender body harbored: love, lust, hatred, depression, joy, excitement. Their breathing was almost in sync, heavy and quick in the same. Sherlock knotted his hands in John's short, golden hair. Everything was clear; He didn't love Molly or Irene. It was John. It was John all along. John was there with him now, and he's never felt better. Well, that's what he thought until he pulled John's head forward, their lips crashing together. It was beautiful and sloppy and so imperfect that it was _perfect. _It was almost surreal. A new sensation that the aspiring adolescent detective had never experienced before.

As much as he'd like to deny it, John had feelings for Sherlock. He lightly kissed the beautiful man beneath him. Occasionally he would bite Sherlock's lips or slip his tongue into Sherlock's mouth. John's hands slowly retreated from Sherlock's disheveled curls to hold the man's face. He waited so long to kiss him, but it was worth the wait. He wasn't sure it would be this perfect if he hadn't waited for it.

Sherlock slid his hands down the back of John's neck, and then down to the dip of his back. He held the other man's hips, pulling John down against himself, desperate for more. A small gasp escaped John's lips. Sherlock was determined to make the most of his time right now with him. Sherlock loathed the nick name he was given by James Moriarty and others: The _Virgin. _He barely noticed the taste of blood that circled their mouths. John's kink was lip biting. Duly noted. He slipped a cool hand up John's jumper, and was greeted with John practically _grinding_ into him. Sherlock broke the connection to sit up and lean against a sturdy box behind them, sliding the blond onto his lap. He kissed John's lips once more before leaving small kisses and bites leading down his neck, stopping at the hem of the fabric. His lips hovered, short hot breaths on the soft and bruising flesh. The almost inaudible moans and gasps coming from John fed into Sherlock's own erection. He pressed into John's bulge with a free hand and continued with small bites to his neck. John moaned louder, but was silenced by a sharp bite and growl from Sherlock, warning him not to be too loud. John grabbed on tight to the charcoal curls and pulled his hair up, forceful enough for Sherlock's face to meet up with John's again. A quick and meaningful kiss to Sherlock's lips and he let go of his hair. Sherlock lingered for a second, as if asking for approval before slowly unzipping his mates jeans. He did his best to kick them off, and down to his ankles and onto the floor. Timing was tempting. Sherlock grabbed John's member through his boxer shorts, prepared for anything except the loud ringing of the school bell that interrupted them both. Both men groaned as the faint sound of students flooding the halls lingered in the background.

John stood up and sprawled around on the floor in search of his dis-guarded trousers. Sherlock ran his hands over his own face, ruffling his black hair and rising to his feet. A sigh of relief and frustration escaped the shorter man, who was now struggling to pull on his jeans in the dark. Sherlock reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved a soft pink cell phone. John huffed as Sherlock turned the phone on, a dim light revealing the two and their surroundings. He pulled his jeans up and stood with the taller man. "Why didn't you tell me you had your phone while I was struggling?" John asked.

"Simple," Sherlock explained, "If you remove one of the five senses, it will enhance the other four. I wanted you to smell the desperation, because frankly, you reek of it," Sherlock received a light punch in the arm for the comment. "...I wanted you to feel my touch," Sherlock said as he ran a hand up the back of John's jumper. "...I wanted you to _hear my voice_," he whispered roughly into John's ear. "... and, I wanted you to taste my lips against yours." He ended the sentence with a soft light kiss. "So, John, the only logical sense to remove was sight. "

"I tripped over a wire because I couldn't see!" John tried to argue. "Yes, but do you remember the result of you tripping?" Sherlock laughed and interlocked his hands with John's. The two stood in silence for a moment, until the quiet was broken by the second bell. John spoke up, "So, I guess we should get to class then..." he trailed off topic, walking toward the exit. "This was fun, John. We should do it again sometime." Sherlock said in a mono-tone. "How about, my house, tonight?" he asked, but was interrupted by John again. "But I don't even know where you live." John said, grabbing Sherlock by the arm, waiting for an answer. Sherlock smirked, halfway out the door, a shadow highlighting his face beautifully, "The address is 221b Baker Street." Sherlock winked, and with that he was out the door, strolling down the corridor to his next class, leaving a starstruck John Watson standing at the exit of the dark school auditorium.


End file.
